Category Archives: Blackout Poetry

liberation – Monday with the Muse

liberation

silent no longer
changed am i
still solitary, reflective…

with words

i smile at the thought
like a powerful
beast, untamed
i laugh and drink wine,
i live
don’t weep for me

~kat

A Blackout/Found Poem inspired by Eileen Carney Hulme’s poem “The Rhythm of Life” (see text below with found words highlighted in bold.)


Rhythm of Life
by Eileen Carney Hulme

The clock is silent
nowadays clocks no longer
need to make
that rhythmic sound of life.

We have moved on
and everything is changed
I am no longer sad
I don’t weep for you.

In still moments
I see you solitary, reflective
running with the wind along the waterfront
with your Walkman on.

Radiowaves carry words
of a song we shared
and I am free to smile
at the thought
of you.

Big and handsome
the scent of you
like a powerful beast lingers
untamed by this world.

I know you still swim with dolphins
in the cold North Sea
I know you still laugh
and drink wine with friends.

I know you live by the seasons
and time is not your enemy,
the clock is silent
I don’t weep for you, I weep for me.

Source: https://100.best-poems.net/rhythm-life.html

 


Monday Musings

a time for
everything
seasons for
every purpose
love and hate
stones to gather
history gets
muddled, its
pleasures, its
pains die in time

~kat


A Blackout/Found Poem. See the source poem below:

A Man In His Life
by Yehuda Amichai

A man doesn’t have time in his life
to have time for everything.
He doesn’t have seasons enough to have
a season for every purpose. Ecclesiastes
Was wrong about that.

A man needs to love and to hate at the same moment,
to laugh and cry with the same eyes,
with the same hands to throw stones and to gather them,
to make love in war and war in love.
And to hate and forgive and remember and forget,
to arrange and confuse, to eat and to digest
what history
takes years and years to do.

A man doesn’t have time.
When he loses he seeks, when he finds
he forgets, when he forgets he loves, when he loves
he begins to forget.

And his soul is seasoned, his soul
is very professional.
Only his body remains forever
an amateur. It tries and it misses,
gets muddled, doesn’t learn a thing,
drunk and blind in its pleasures
and its pains.

He will die as figs die in autumn,
Shriveled and full of himself and sweet,
the leaves growing dry on the ground,
the bare branches pointing to the place
where there’s time for everything.


Monday Musing

found missing

it was where
he had long
turned thus…
there he was, serene,
cadaverous, calm,
as he sat there gazing,
he was gone

~kat


Today’s Blackout/Found poem is taken from the poem:

Why He Was There
by Edwin Arlington Robinson

Much as he left it when he went from us
Here was the room again where he had been
So long that something of him should be seen,
Or felt-and so it was. Incredulous,
I turned about, loath to be greeted thus,
And there he was in his old chair, serene
As ever, and as laconic as lean
As when he lived, and as cadaverous.
Calm as he was of old when we were young,
He sat there gazing at the pallid flame
Before him. ‘And how far will this go on?’
I thought. He felt the failure of my tongue,
And smiled: ‘I was not here until you came;
And I shall not be here when you are gone.’


fear not death…Monday Musing

fear not death

I have loved
magic, hours
that die
like a breath…
fear not death
with delight
feast on beauty
shed a tear

~kat


A Found/Blackout Poem inspired by this lovely poem by Robert Bridges at 100.Best-Poems.net.

I have loved flowers that fade

I have loved flowers that fade,
Within whose magic tents
Rich hues have marriage made
With sweet unmemoried scents:
A honeymoon delight,
A joy of love at sight,
That ages in an hour
My song be like a flower!.
I have loved airs that die
Before their charm is writ
Along a liquid sky
Trembling to welcome it.
Notes, that with pulse of fire
Proclaim the spirit’s desire,
Then die, and are nowhere
My song be like an air!
Die, song, die like a breath,
And wither as a bloom;
Fear not a flowery death,
Dread not an airy tomb!
Fly with delight, fly hence!
‘Twas thine love’s tender sense
To feast; now on thy bier
Beauty shall shed a tear.


players / Monday with the Muse

players

men and women
play act, whining,
lovers sighing,
jealous, quick in
quarrels, seeking
justice, fair and
wise, childish, scenes
that end strange…
oblivion, sans
everything

~kat

A Found/Blackout Poem on this Monday inspired by the poem below:

All the World’s a Stage
by William Shakespeare

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrels,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
https://100.best-poems.net


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